“It happens.” He ran a hand over her hair, surprising both of them. “I like the hair,” he said and barely resisted stuffing the hand in his pocket. “Shorter than mine.”

“You need a haircut.”

“I haven’t had time.”

“I could cut it for you.”

He laughed. “No, you fucking won’t.”

“I’m good at it.”

He pulled the popcorn out, dumped it in a bowl. “Let’s go watch a movie.”

“I even have the right tools.”

“No. Do you want more wine? I’ve got another bottle.”

“I’ve got to drive, so no. I’ll switch to water.”

“Grab those chocolate things. Big-ass TV’s downstairs.”

She followed him down, gaped, grinned.

“This is wonderful!”

“I like it.”

She supposed he thought of it as a man cave, but there was nothing cavelike here. Glass doors opened to the outside, giving it a sense of more space. He’d used color again, sharply, nothing soft, nothing pale, mated it with dark glossy wood, a lot of leather.

Delighted, she wandered, studied the alcove where he kept weights, an old-fashioned water bubbler, the punching bag boxers used—what was it? Speed bag, she remembered.

She peeked around and into the small, Deco-inspired black and white bath.

He had games—the Montgomery brothers seemed to love them. Pinball machine, an Xbox, even one of those touch-screen games Avery had at Vesta.

But the best was the bar—carved and compact, and the retro refrigerator, the glass shelves with old bottles.

“Is this a reproduction or the real thing?” she asked.

“It’s the real thing. I like old things.” He opened the old Frigidaire, gave her a bottle of water.

“It’s like the fifties meet the now. It’s great.” She admired the antique poker table, the old-style pinball machine.

“You must have great parties.”

“That’s Owen’s deal more than mine.”

“I should say you could have great parties.” Her party-planning brain already organized themes, menus, decorations. “And that is, without question, the biggest TV I’ve ever seen.”

“Might as well have big. That cabinet’s for the DVDs. You can pick what you want to see.”

“I get to pick? That’s very considerate.”

“There’s nothing in there I won’t watch, so you can pick.”

She laughed and, before she did, walked over, wrapped her arms around his waist. “See, you didn’t have to say that. I’d’ve believed you were considerate.”

“It is what it is.”

“I like what it is.”

“So do I. Ah, what’s that thing called before the movie?”

“Previews?”

“No, the old-fashioned thing. Before they played the movie.”

“The overture?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” He scooped her off her feet. “It’s time for the overture.”

She laughed as he rolled them both onto his black leather couch.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN